


Restless

by MuzaiYuuzai



Series: Restless [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuzaiYuuzai/pseuds/MuzaiYuuzai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Miles Lancaster. He’s Sam’s best friend and a high school sophomore. He's also gay, too busy trying to keep his grades up to come out. And he’s just gotten sucked up into an intergalactic war, without an alien guardian to make sure he doesn’t get squished. Also he might be in love with Trent.<br/>Sequel to MTG & BS<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started with the prompt by blazehex: 11. Sam always heard from Miles about his 'crazy' uncle. Never really thought it would turn out to be Simmons.  
> Other challenges to be revealed as the story progresses.

Seven crickets tumbled into the tank and Arod advanced slowly, enticed by the movement of his meal. The tiny chirping things fell silent as the toad approached, sensing their eventual demise. The other thirteen bugs who’d escaped that fate scattered over the desktop, fleeing the frenzied swipes of the teen above them. Miles swore loudly as they leapt for the window and floor, his previous plight all but forgotten in the mad dash to exterminate the tiny invaders. He should just crawl into bed he thinks, trapping handful of bugs on the sill. They tremble in his hand, tickling something fierce but he deposits them in the aquarium and drops to the carpet.

The blasted little devils are almost quicker than he is, almost but not quite. There’s a squish as he claps his hands over the nearest few, but no one’s dead yet and they’re dumped into the glass aquarium. He feels sorry for them. Stuck in the last place they would ever wanna be. It’s like High School, he’s sure of it, newer and newer crickets dancing about to get gobbled up by the biggest, meanest thing. Like most students returning to the hallowed halls of Tranquility High, he’d rather skip, but that’s outta the question, especially on the first day.

Ah the new semester. Miles captures another handful and lets them slide into the bug box with a sigh. The lid slides shut over the crickets, sealing them away from their doom. Those guys are safe, for now. Belatedly he wishes he was safe. Wishes he was too sick to venture out or that he was home schooled. Impossible, but an admirable hope, despite his numerous objections he’s ready for his sophomore year. 

The ugly green backpack full of notebooks and pens and everything else sat tucked by the stairwell in preparation of his impending departure. He’s got everything he needs plus a bright green can of sugary caffeine goodness tucked in the side pocket, for emergencies. On the sibling front, Syd’s got work so he won’t be getting a ride; at last check Casey was dead to the world, face down in batman sheets with a stuffed Cuthulu clasped in her grip. He’d sneak a can in to her bag too before she left, first day of middle school looming over her head and all.

He’s almost nostalgic about it, remembering his own years of grade six as he rounds up the last few insects bouncing across the floor. He cradled the tiny things gently to his chest as he scans the rest of his room. It’s clear, cleaned with the determination of one putting off studying or sleep. There’s a pile of mostly clothing set out for tomorrow, along with his charged cell and money for lunch. Turning back to the desk, Miles lets that final handful of crickets tumble down to join their brethren. As the insects flee the inevitable crush of a sticky tongue Miles goes for the hand sanitizer, wiping away the evidence and adding the last mark on his mental checklist.

There, done, and that’s out of the way; he’s left standing with nothing to do. Well, except for the fact that still he has to go to sleep. Right sleep, yeah that’s kind of important. He’s amused by the thought, but makes no move towards the safety of his bed; instead he wanders about his room shuffling papers and knickknacks about. He's too keyed up for sleep.

He can hear the reruns of Lucy streaming from his mother’s television, the echoes of the studio audience seeming to laugh at him. He can feel the taped mirth growing, vibrating the floorboards beneath his feet. And suddenly he’s backing away from the stairway, his bedroom oppressive with the last too hot days of summer.

The sewing kit and the rainbow patch inside are half tucked under his backpack and it’s taunting him, daring him to stand with pride. He'd gotten the patch on a lark, and then promptly hidden it under his stash of Busty Beauties to throw of anyone snooping in his room. It’s a cry to take up the cause. To wave his rainbow flag high and scream it from the roof tops. The laughter echoed and he’s dropping down to the plush of his covers, trying to make one of the most important decisions of his life. It’s too much, really. He can’t just make such a spur of the moment decision like that. He sagged against the blankets, missed the pillow but he didn't care. He could fall asleep, if he just closed his eyes. 

It smelled different, his bed; strange and wrong, and it’s smelled that way for longer than he’d care to admit. The comforter too, familiar and alien all at once, bore the nearly enticing aroma of green summer and sex. It’s musky and earthy, as if he'd left sheets out on the lawn overnight. It’s been plaguing him since the Great Gay Summer of 07, since the end of last week. It doesn’t make anything easier; in fact the scent chases away the absolution of sleep. 

He can’t help savoring the odor, the only proof that the GGS07 wasn’t simply a vodka induced hallucination. It wasn’t Trent, so much as it was Miles’ defining moment of homosexuality, well his second, but no one was counting that one, no one but him. He buried his face in the fragrant covers and groaned piteously. His sheets smelled like another man and that drives home the point of the matter. He’s gay and has no idea how to come out to the rest of the world.

It’s there, lurking with fear like a first time stripper in a birthday cake. He’s gonna have to present himself sooner or later. Not that he’s all ready to bare himself again, so soon. There’s no cute guy offering to drive him home because he’s drunk. His eyes are open, the urge to sleep having long since faded with the sound of the crickets.

He moved and stared at the tank with his over-sized toad inside. Arod was silent now, lounging in the water, satisfied with his meal. Miles would have to pick up more crickets for him after school, if he wasn’t hanging from the flagpole by the last bell. No, he decided that was an unlikely occurrence, especially if he avoided wearing the rainbow patch or organizing a rally or stopped being gay, which was even more of an unlikely occurrence.

Miles liked being gay, he loved it, aside from the crushing indecision and constant second guessing. Everything else was pretty good; not having to bother with silly little cockteases, was a bonus to his libido and it had been tragically easy to come out to his sisters. Even Casey was pretty sure he was a “fruit”. He’d sworn the girls to secrecy and had insisted he’d explain it to everyone else. Almost five years later, he was still hiding the homo and fighting the urge to kiss his best friend. Which brought him to this current state of sleeplessness. 

He rolled off the bed, taking the nest of covers with them. He just wouldn't talk about it, not any more. It was a new school year, and he was about to go to college. He could be the dateless wonder for another year. College would be the most opportune place to come out. He could go to California or go to another place with marriage rights and the whole shebang.  
He looked at the lopsided curve of rainbow patch peeling out of his bag. He knew he couldn't wait any longer. Visibility was important, hell he needed this, he needed to come out. He had to grow up sooner or later and it was time to embrace the raging homosexual inside of him.

There’s no time like the present Miles thinks, fingering the little rainbow in the pocket of his jeans. He picked up a can of Mountain Dew and climbed out the back window. If he was going to come out like a metamorphosed butterfly he was gonna to have to do it right. The most important people needed to know, and that meant, besides his family, Sam Witwicky had to know he was best friends with a friend of Dorothy.

The roof creaked as he shimmied down to the edge of the eaves. His sneaker laces flopped as he swung his legs over, clinging tight to the slanted tiling. Clutching to the drain pipe he began the descent, using the many ledges as hand holds as he descended the back of his house. Miles kept his eyes on his hands and his movements slow and steady. His foot slipped just once, but by then he was already on the ground, his hands scraped and his heart beating a march against his ribs. When he could breathe again Miles peered up into the darkened windows to see if anyone had noticed his escape. With no admonishment forthcoming, he snuck into alley and strolled down the worn path. 

The long grass and dandelions stuck up through the broken pavement, remnants of a missed mowing. He skirted the edge of the sagging fence and hopped over an old wagon just beyond a neighbor’s back gate. Three houses down the roses had bloomed, the subtle aroma wafting over the familiar tinge of something else. He inhaled deeply and recognized the odor at once, there just beyond the pink petals was a freshly mown lawn. Crisp and wet, the scent hit him like a truck and he reeled. The herbal, earthy hints reminded him of the too quick summer, stolen moments and broad hands. Miles flushed in the dark, felt his cheeks heat; turning pink. Frozen in place he stared up the alleyway beyond the road and streetlights, the wet plants soaking the edge of his jeans. His mind rebelled with the stillness, the empty road and his own self-consciousness.

What was he doing, in the middle of the night, standing in an alley? What did he even expect to happen?  
Shuffling on the cracked stonework, Miles looked back towards the darkened windows of his house. He turned to go back, goal almost forgotten.

Did Sam really have to know? 

His shoes sounded quiet over the abandoned trash and debris. He felt more than a little lost himself.

Would Witwicky even want to know?

Panic crawled up his spine and he turned again, completing a small weaving circle in the bare space. It was easy, so easy. He could climb back through the fence, in his left pocket his house keys, he could just crash on the couch and no one would wonder. No one would ask him why. He could pretend and his secret would be safe for, for as long as he wanted it to be. It could be his escape. The best escape, better than he could have ever possibly hoped for. 

The scrawny teen stopped pacing at once, shivering in the cooling air, his decision clear.

One step backward and light flooded in the alley. A large sleek vehicle cruised by, the purring rumble of its engine drawing him out to watch as it turned down the street. Just as quick and the cop car was gone from his sight, its alluring sound barely audible. He followed the veritable Pied piper, trying not to tremble with each step. He’s made his decision, and changed it twice now. He’s going to take all the signs he can get.

Miles crossed the street and hopped up over the curb slipping into the alleyway. He counted the houses under his breath, and stopped at tan fence and slipped inside letting the gate swing shut behind him. Just as every time before he strolled down the tiled walkway path, but tonight he stopped short. The familiar decorative fountain was gone from the yard, a pale police line draped over the broken pieces. He stepped past the pieces moving up the porch to back door. The knob twisted under his hand, but for the first time in seven years, he found it locked. He tried again, but still nothing, not that something like a little locked door was going to stop him.

Descending from the back porch, Miles skirted the side of the house, trailing his fingers along the siding as he walked. Just past the line of the grass, he spotted a golden yellow vision parked beside the house like a sentry. The old beater Camaro was gone, replaced by a sleek sporty thing that Miles was hard pressed to believe Sam had received in trade. This new ride was hard, smooth and too good to be true. He smiled to himself, brushing a hand over a single of the paired black stripes as he passed by the epitome of sex on wheels.

The trellis wouldn't hold him, he’d known from experience so he turned to the eldest tree, a longtime suffer of his lofty aspirations. Toeing off his sandals at the base Miles caught the rough wood and heaved himself up the side. The bark was damp under his bare feet as he climbed, he almost slipped going up, his knee sliding on the moist surface, but he clung to trunk and continued up. A familiar knot in the trunk served as a bracing point as he leveraged himself higher into the branches. Resting in the nest of limbs, he picked the accumulated leaves from his hair before starting towards the open window. 

In the cool night Samuel Witwicky looked almost peaceful, his snoring mostly muffled by a pillow. Sprawled inelegantly across the plush chaos that passed for his bed, blankets bunching at his hips; Sam was for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. Mojo, his four legged companion, settled in the folds of slipped the covers, his legs twitching. Both teen and tiny Chihuahua snored, but Miles ignored this and slipped into the space clear of man and beast, easing his way under the sheets.

The mattress dipped with his weight and he scooted forward easing an arm over the sleeping teen. To his surprise Sam shifted to accommodate the intruder in his bed, snuggling against him with a pleased sigh. Miles smothered a laugh and leaned closer, watching his friend in the dark. 

There was a mark across Witwicky’s temple, a mostly healed line stretching into his hair and over an eyebrow. Miles drew his finger over the new scar, listening to the much louder snores of the teen and his dog.

'What had Sam been getting into?' Miles wondered ruffling his friends hair.

Sam murmured in his sleep, squishing his pillow further into submission. Miles leaned close and strained to catch the sound, find out just who he was dreaming about.  
The name wasn't a welcome one. Mile had and hadn’t expected it, the soft syllables hanging heavy in his ears. Shaking his disappointment and surprise, he flicked Sam in the forehead and propped himself back on a pillow to wait. The brunet rolled onto his back, Mojo whining as he moved. A free hand captured Miles’ arm and he held back a smile, then he heard that name again from Samuel’s lips.

“I’m not Mikaela.” Miles whispered in reply, pressing a kiss to the teen’s cheek, his amusement tinged with irritation. “And if she makes a habit of sneaking into your room, I’m telling your mom.”

Sam jerked upright, a flailing limb catching Miles in the jaw as he scrambled backwards in his bed. Mojo dove from the mattress as Sam did, small feet scrabbling on the wooden floor as he bolted. Frowning at Miles from his spot on the floor, Sam untangled himself from the blankets and pulled the old tee down to cover his stomach.

“Miles?” He asked in confusion, the surprised tone full of sleep.

“Hey dude.” Miles answered leaning over the edge of the bed, gently prodding the sore spot on his cheek.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.” 

A quick glance at the clock and Sam rubbed his eyes vigorously “At four in the morning?” 

“If I’d called, you would’ve had the option of hanging up.” Miles answered unabashedly.

“Which I definitely would have.” 

“Case in point.”

“What do you want?”

The question came unexpectedly; and Mile had been so ready to answer it moments before. Well he’d felt ready, at least since he’d climbed the tree. Now that the moment was upon him and suddenly Miles was stumbling for words.

“I wanted you to be the first to know.” He lisped, his tongue probing the inside of his mouth.

“Know what?” Sam demanded sharply, his brows knitted in the dark. “What could be so important you had to wake me up at four in the morning?”

There it was, the moment of truth. The unopened can of Mountain Dew was cold against his leg; his lips dry as he took a breath.

'I’m gay, and I’ve had a crush on you since forever.'  
The sentence wasn't innocuous but Sam would understand.  
'Surprise I pitch for the other team!'  
Something he needed to say something before the moment slipped away.  
'I fancy dudes!'

It was terrible but at least it was something.  
'I'm gay'  
Cliche but it would work. He decided it would have to do. 'I'm gay.' that’s what his brain told him to say. His mouth however, had other plans 

“Your girlfriend’s a slut.” 

In the silence that followed the declaration the teens stared at one another, the pooling linens forgotten on the floor between them. Sam sat down heavily on the bed, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He seemed tired, older and his voice was soft.

“Get out Miles.” He said, too worn to work any vehemence into the order.

“Dude-” Miles answered, swearing silently to himself.

Why on earth had that been the first thing out of his mouth?

“Just go.” The teen ordered again.

“Don’t be an ass.” Was Miles's reply, a less than snappy retort and that’s what started the fight.

Both attacks missed, Miles stumbling in the blankets as Sam ducked the swung pillow. They circled around each other before lunging and striking out with fist, foot and occasionally an improvised weapon. Once they had exhausted cache of clothing and small projectiles, they move to close quarters, shoving and twisting as they struggled. They pitched back and forth, shuffling across the sudden disaster area. It was a lucky shot that tumbled the shortest of the pair, the blond falling back with a cry. He lashed out as he landed on the floor, the angle granted him the advantage and his punch brought Sam down with him.

They hit the floor and its carpet of miscellaneous items hard, the floor echoing beneath them. Sam groaned clutching his wound as his so-called best friend nursed his injured face. Underneath his interlaced fingers his grimace of pain, twisted into one of horror and surprise.

“You punched me in the face.” He slurred, massaging the bruising skin.

Sam made a soft, halfhearted apologetic sound, but said nothing else as he weathered the pain.

Miles, incensed, watched Witwicky; admiring the skin his bunched shorts revealed. Glancing at the bared expanse of thigh, He smiled bitterly, before reaching for his pocket. With a strategic yank of his worn cotton shirt, the soft fabric effectively trapping his arms above his head. Miles leaned forward, hooked his fingers into the waistband Sam's boxer shorts and shoved the can of Mountain Dew in. The resulting howl and his surprised laughter set Mojo barking, roused Sam’s parents from their bed and set off the car alarm.

Shocked and in pain, Samuel slapped at the offending limb as he writhed under the chill of the soda. It helped little, hurt worse, wet and hard pressed to his already abused skin. He swore up and down at each cold touch, promising violence and death threats on his best friend. Ron and Judy found the boys flopped on the floor, their son clutching his crotch as Miles peered up guiltily from between spread legs, his hand down Sam’s shorts.

Things went pretty quickly afterwards. The pair disentangled in a flurry of limbs and loud words, color flooding their cheeks. Ronald Witwicky hauled the teen in the hall, as Sam scrambled embarrassedly to his feet. 

“Mom, it’s not what it looks like!” he yelped, wrenching the can from his damp underwear.

Judy for her credit smiled reassuringly at her son and hugged him to her chest as the bedroom door swung shut. 

Miles shuffled his feet, following the elder Witwicky as they marched down the creaking hall.

“Hi Uncle Ron-” he began, but the round face man hushed him with a hand. 

“Don’t give me that, mister. It’s pretty obvious what was going on and I am telling you now, Milton Lancaster, that sort of thing is not acceptable behavior in my house.”

The blond winced but tried again, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not like that at all.” He stammered sparing a glance at the shut door, wondering what it exactly it was like.

Ron dropped a firm hand on his shoulder and began again. “You and Sam are practically adults; don’t you think it’s time to stop fighting like children?”

Miles was silent at the remark, but nodded solemnly. Was that all the fuss was about? At least everything wasn’t blowing up in his face, or so he thought.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am.” Ron answered, half smiling in the dim hallway. 

Miles laughed weakly and turned back to the door.

Ron cleared his throat and Miles looked back, a guilty expression firmly pinned to his face. Rats, he’d almost gotten away unscathed. 

“Yeah?” He asked quietly.

"The busty beauties aren't yours?" Asked Ron glaring down his nose at him.

The last question Miles had expected to hear. Frantically he tried to concoct a lie that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. From the sounds of Sam venting behind the door, he didn’t think his mouth would oblige him.

He shook his head defeated, "No sir, they're my sister's."

Ron harrumphed; the disapproving frown was back with a vengeance. 

“Uncle Ron-” Miles began and stopped unsure of what was going to come out of his mouth next. Just what could he tell him? What would he say? What would Ron say?

“I just wanted to tell him…I wasn't…I mean I was trying to tell Sam-" 

He closed his mouth and looked at Ron, a helpless sort of expression on his face.

"I couldn't." 

Ron patted his shoulder and dispelled every fear with one edict. “I don’t want you bringing anymore of that filth into my house, you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” Miles answered, saved from yet another awkward outing. Biting his lip to keep the relief from his expression he spun on his heel and carefully grasped the knob.

“Son.” Ron said finally.

“Yeah?” he asked airily, looking over his shoulder.

“I'm not you father, so I'm not going to say anything about your choices-” Ron nodded towards the door. 

“You’ve always done right by Sam before, so try not to get your heart broken.”

Flabbergasted Miles only nodded, murmuring “Yes Sir.”, before he slipped back into his friend’s room, making a beeline for the window. 

Judy nudged Sam with her elbow and he gritted out a “Goodnight, Miles.” as he shuffled past.

“Use the door. Your mother would never forgive me if you fell to your death,” Judy cooed at him.

“Or if I pushed him…” His best friend, or so he hoped, grumbled.

“Put on some clothes Sam.” His mother insisted taking Miles by the shoulders, leading him out.

“It’s so not what it looks like.” Sam groaned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Miles Lancaster. He’s Sam’s best friend and a high school sophomore. He's also gay, too busy trying to keep his grades up to come out. And he’s just gotten sucked up into an intergalactic war, without an alien guardian to make sure he doesn’t get squished. Also he might be in love with Trent.  
> Sequel to MTG & BS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started with the prompt by blazehex: 11. Sam always heard from Miles about his 'crazy' uncle. Never really thought it would turn out to be Simmons.  
> Other challenges to be revealed as the story progresses.
> 
> In this chapter Miles gets to school and in trouble

With the screeching of an alarm Miles woke up later than he’d intended. Nothing got better from there.  The snooze button eluded his grasp as he flailed from the bed. When this happened the fifth time, Miles just shoved the clock off the  dresser. The loud crash was somewhat satisfying.

His comforter was exceptionally warm, so he snuggled back into bed. He was  intent on going back to sleep. The sunlight peeking through the window however, had other ideas. It was the unyielding stream of light that finally roused Miles.  He staggered out of bed and tripped over his bag.  He just barely he caught himself on the bed. The impact jostled loose a pop can from the opened zipper. As he leaned down to pick it up, Miles recalled his actions from the night before.

"Fuck." he groaned as his mother shouted he was going to be late. Shoving the can in his bag Miles tromped down the stairs. Syd wasn't there but Casey was, pouring cereal more over the whole table than her bowl.

"Good mfnif." She greeted with her mouth full. Miles waved and dove into the bathroom. After a shower and fight with his sister for the milk jug, Miles scarfed a bowl of cereal. Fed and freshly scrubbed, Miles gathered his crap and ran.

His car was still in the shop, a tragic case of transmission trouble, so he snagged his bike. Wind whipped his hair back and forth as he pedaled. He knew, well almost knew that Sam wouldn't give him a ride, so he was on his own. It was his own fault, but he'd rather endure the biking bruises than the pride bruises.  Some pain was worth it  some pain was not, this was well worth it.

Pretty confident in his choice, Miles took the corner with reckless speed. He hopped the curb and pedaled on. Hurtling down the street he careened into traffic. The owner of a nearby  car stopped short. Apparently he was not keen on earning the vehicular manslaughter achievement. Swearing in reply, he flipped the driver off and continued down the road. Some people had no consideration, what was he doing lurking behind that sign anyway? Miles spared the car another glance before returning his eyes to the road. With mounting horror he realized he’d just cut off a police car.

‘Well,’ he thought ‘that isn’t gonna come back to bite me in the ass.’

Further down the road, the school building loomed as he pedaled. A simultaneous wave of nausea and nostalgia washed over him. He clamped it down by  repeating "fresh start" as he approached the building. Gritting his teeth, Miles pedaled into the lot and up the sidewalk. The parking lot was full and the stairs clear of students. It wasn't looking good.  Swinging his leg he hopped off the bike, grabbing the handlebars as it rolled. He was late, but if he hurried no one would call him on it.

It was the first day of the new semester after all. Not an altogether new start, but a chance to reinvent. He was going to be more than the tree guy or Syd's little brother. He was going to be somebody ultimately cool. But none of that would matter if he got detention on his first day. Bad boy was not the rep he was trying to cultivate. It was cool, but decidedly not him.

Miles hauled his bike over to the stand, propping against the bars as he fished the lock. A flick of the key and the lock secured his bike. With his task finished, Miles turned and with purpose dashed into the building.

The security guard waved him past once he flashed his id. The hallway was clear save for a few stragglers beside himself. Most of the students lounging among the lockers were seniors. He wanted that casual nonchalance, but cared for his grades way too much for that.

He forged on, searching for the homeroom. He was hoping that the destination hadn’t changed in his absence. Not that it would bother him much.  He could go hide in the main office till first bell and avoid going in at all. If he did that he just might be able to avoid Sam until he’d calmed down.

And the day had started with such promise. He felt good. Really good, he'd finally come out to his best friend except he hadn’t at all. Why had he said that? What the hell was wrong with him? It was possibly the worst thing he could have said to Sam.

'Your girlfriend’s a slut.' Why hadn’t he just gone ahead and called Sam’s mom one too?

Fucking fantastic. Sometimes, he was a  goddamn idiot.

“Stupid high school. Best years of your life, my ass.” he grumbled.

A shoulder brushed his a bit roughly and he looked up in irritation. To his surprise he saw it was Sydney. She was dressed rather smartly, business casual was apparently the style of the day. She’d graduated the year before and then had taken a job as  secretary. She was insane, what moron would  go back to high school voluntarily ?

"You could have given me a ride." Miles said, flipping her off.

"I don't aid and abet delinquents who sneak out at night." Sydney replied with a crisp smile. "Get to class."

Miles flushed, so someone had heard him clamber back in last night. He was getting rusty. His sister smirked and then made shooing motions.

"You at least could have given me a hall pass." Miles muttered turning on his heel. He continued grumbling on his way to his locker.

A petite blonde barred the way to his miniature green cell.  She was using the mirror tucked  just inside the door.  She was so intent on her reflection that she didn’t notice him. He took advantage and brushed against her. The woman turned with a sharp word on her tongue that died when she saw who it was.

“Hey darling.” She crooned, closing her makeup bag.

“Hey Tabbie.” Miles greeted reaching past her to place a lock on the open door. It was great to see her again. She been out of town and they hadn't had a chance to talk before the school year kicked in.

“What’s new?” she asked him leaning back blotting her lips as he shut the locker.

“I tried to come out to Sam.” Miles whispered as she turned towards him. Tabbie was the only one outside of his family he'd told he was gay.  Of course she'd taken it pretty well. And then she she'd made him swear never to take or seduce her brother.

She needed to know what had happened the night before.

Tabitha choked at his news,smearing her lip gloss. Slowly she rounded on him, eyes as big as dinner plates.

"What?" Miles hissed staring at her gobsmacked expression.

"I thought you weren't ready.You were pretty clear on that." She glanced around before whispering back “How’d he take it?”

“I said I tried. It didn’t go as planned.”

“What gave you the courage to climb out of the closet?” Tabitha asked reaching over to pat his face.

“The “Incident” " Miles replied shifting uncomfortably.

“What incident?” Tabbie echoed.

Miles blanched. He’d completely forgotten to tell Tabbie, his second best friend about the GGS 07. Well that wasn’t exactly true, in reality he hadn’t. He hadn't told anyone.

He’d been 100% that his football fuck up was one thing that he wasn’t going to share in any shape or form. One mistake was enough to make anyone reconsider. He just had to get sober, not reveal the drug that had led to it.

“Look Tabbie Cat. I gotta go. Talk later?”  Miles asked and scuttled away before she could so much as answer the question.

***

Mr. Hosney frowned at him as he tried to slip into the room

“You’re late Mr. Lancaster.  Not an admirable start to the academic year.” He announced. A few students laughed and Miles waved to them.

“And I tried so hard.” Miles replied turning his attention to the grid of chairs before him. Students filled most of the seats. Even his own, well it wasn’t his own but he’d and that chair had history. When he found his spot had been taken, Miles slid into the seat behind Sam J Witwicky. He pointedly didn't look at his neighbor.

It was Trent, not that he made a note of it. Instead, he graced Sam’s seat with a swift kick that jostled his best friend. Sam almost jumped. Grinning he heard a soft chuckle. He looked out of the corner of his eye and caught the smug expression on Trent’s face. Flushing more out of anger with himself than embarrassment Miles looked to the board.

Hand over hand the syllabuses crossed the room and then attendance called.  Through it all unsurprisingly, Sam only had eyes for Mikaela. It burned Miles that his best friend had traded up for a newer model as it were.

Not that he and Sam had been dating, but it was the thing they had sworn never to do. And Miles had meant it. He'd been a little in love with Sam since they met, and unfortunately he still was. Miles had always known he'd liked his friend Sam more than any girl.  

This semester was gonna be hell.

***

Homeroom let out with a bell ringing out his momentary salvation. The crush of students filed into the hall.  The multitude of students helped to hide the gratuitous PDA of Sam and his new woman. Holding hands and making out they were oblivious to the rest of the world.

 

"That jerk." Miles slammed his locker with more force than necessary and trudged off to class. He’d had enough of Sam ditching him for ‘quality’ time with his girlfriend.

Mistakenly,he’d assumed  the harpy’s stranglehold wouldn’t carry into the school term.

He’d thought wrong. Thankfully, his first class was traitor and harpy free. not that he’d be so lucky the rest of the week. He and Sam shared most of their courses of course.  They'd matched schedules the semester before.

Mr.Halkin passed out a pop quiz. His own way to gauge just how much his students had forgotten during the summer break. It wasn't too difficult but Miles' mind was not on literature. His brain was already occupied with the normal stresses that plagued teenagers. Well the gay ones at least. He wasn't scared to come out, not really. No he was more scared of what everyone would say when he did.

Tranquility was a quiet town. And there wasn't a wealth of pride safe locations in the city limits. Even so he couldn’t just stay silent forever.

Miles knew Tabbie wasn’t going to let him squirm out of spilling his guts. And if he told Tabbie then others would find out. Not that he didn't trust her, it was just the nature of secrets. Secrets didn't stay secrets if you told anyone. Not that he was planning to keep it a secret forever. He was planning on telling people, loads of people, he was planning on coming out. He just couldn't do it alone. Miles didn't have the balls to do it.

Miles hadn't found any lgbta centers that could aid his coming out. He wanted the reassurance of a safety cord before he plunged off the cliff of social standing.  Miles already was and didn’t feel like becoming more of the social pariah. Nails that stuck up got hammered and not in any good way.

He wished he’d had Sam to vent to but the bastard was still mad at him about the ‘slut’ comment from the night before. The family motto was sacrifice but the Witwicky’s were known for holding grudges.

He rolled his pencil between his fingers and glared at the sheet on his desk. His intense focus on the sheet didn’t make words form on its surface.  He gave up and started scribbling in answers just in time for the bell to ring.

***

The next class was a throwaway course. Thank the government for mandated exercise. While most of the class ran laps, Miles lounged on the bleachers. He get his laps in later or hopefully not at all.

“Why are we here?” Tabitha asked settling down next to him.

“Philosophers have been asking that question for eons.” Miles replied, eyes watching the field  although he tried not to. It was hard, Trent was good at catching attention. Seeing him dash across the pitch was hard to resist.

It was that night all over again, Trent leaning over him. He hadn't had another guy since and not for lack of trying. Trent had definitely left an impression, whether he wanted to or not.

“I mean why are you watching them?” Tabbie interrupted his internal monologue.

“Besides the obvious? I've got a plan involving #53 and a bucket of paint.”

“#53 is my boyfriend.”  Tabbie announced and turned to  frown at him.

“We’re all aware of your sacrifice.” Miles soothed and his eyes strayed back to the teen in the red jersey labeled 84.

“Dick, wanna tell me what was so important?” Tabbie asked leaning back against the bleachers.

“Not out here, later I promise.” Miles replied eyes focusing on the field again.

"You can’t hide forever." She pointed out before rising to wave at her beloved #53. Kase turned once prodded by a teammate, and waved back.

A few other members of the team saw the exchange and  began pushing Kase and waving at Tabbie. She laughed and blew kisses. Trent turned toward the source of the team’s distraction. Miles swore when those blue eyes didn’t scan over him but stopped. He remembered the time he'd begun to see there was more to Trent than he thought. He’d woken to ridiculously clear blue eyes. The team saw Trent's momentary distraction and piled on top of him. The spell broken, Miles looked away and then and made up his mind to flee.

Tabitha saw the action and reached for Miles. "Oh no now you’re telling me." She insisted grabbing his arm.  "Don’t you have some exciting news for me?"

But Miles had no words, he'd just seen Sam settle down lower on the bleachers. Miles made a pitiful noise and Tabbie saw the shift in his attention.

“You owe me details.” She instructed him, fingers tight around his wrist.

Miles nodded  “Come over after school.”

Tabbie made a pleased assent and let him go. "Shout if you need anything." She said and turned back to blow kisses to her boyfriend

Miles picked his way down to his friends side. Sam didn’t notice him until he’d sunk down on the bench.

“How’s the other woman?” he asked.

“Miles!” Sam groaned shoving him. "Knock it off."

“I was here first.” Miles answered.

“I’m not dating you." Sam said.

"You're not anything me." Miles grumbled.

"What?" Sam asked and for a moment Miles considered telling him. Sam despite evidence to the contrary, was his best friend. There was little they didn't share.The moment faded when he saw Mikaela approaching. Miles bit his tongue and said nothing. Instead he stepped down the raised platform, going the long way round as he went.

On the chemical treated grass he twisted his heel as if grinding the butt of a cigarette. and decided not to spare the pair a second glance. Slinking off to find anywhere else to be, he walked through the bleachers, an easy out. He resolutely did not give the football team another look.

***

Miles’ ire only lasted until lunch period. He stepped into the cafeteria and the smell of greasy fried food hit him hard. The mass of teens, jostling for space in line made him almost nostalgic. The is until someone shoved him. He flipped the guy off and settle back in the line, smiling a bit. Compared to the rest of high school this was easy. Snagging a tray he stepped up to survey the bounty of food. The mystery meat and gravy combo slid off the spoon like some sort of life form. It jiggled with every step he took. But the golden fries gracing the top corner of his tray more than made up for it.  

On his search for a seat, Miles saw Tabbie. She was gliding over to the the popular table. It was where the jocks and the girls dating them usually were. He knew she’d sneak by later as usual. Just because she had to make an appearance at the popular table didn’t mean she was gonna stay there.

Miles found a deserted corner and settled into the bench. He tore open his utensils and  poked at the meat. The brown mass parted easily under the press of his fork. So engrossed in dissecting the potential meat Miles almost missed Sam appearing.

“Come to join the leper colony?” Miles asked abandoning his lunch autopsy to look at Sam. Sam blanched but slid into the bench across the table.

“I’m still mad." Sam grumbled.

“Tell me something I don’t know." Miles murmured  before slurping milk from the carton.

“Why can’t you two get along?”  Sam asked digging in his lunch bag.

“Cuz a girl like that doesn’t give a guy like you the time of day, unless there was a sweet ride in the deal. She’s using you as a status symbol.” Miles replied going back to poke at the poorly reconstructed meat.

“Your crude and hurtful concern aside, just try to be nicer.” Sam asked.

“As long as I don’t have to talk to her, see her and you cannot mention her.” Miles declared.

Sam was about to counter his statement when Mikaela appeared and sat down.

“Speak of the devil.” Miles made a face and jabbed at his meat..

Sam ignored him and lean over to engage his girlfriend in an animated display of PDA. Miles resisted the urge to gag, but it was a long fight.

“Why don’t you like me?” Mikaela asked as Sam pulled back.

“The fact that you’re an evil jock concubine. You stole my best friend and you’re no good for Sam.” Miles said waving a fry for emphasis.

“It’s his choice, I’m his girlfriend and if you can’t take it tough, it’s between me and Sam.”

“And the sixty or so guys you slept with.” Miles countered. His remark earned him a smack on the back of the head.

“Hey Mik slumming with the riffraff?” Tabitha asked leaning over him to see Mikaela.

“I don’t see why…” Mikaela replied. "The company is lacking."

“Tabbie, it so good to see you vertical.” Miles bit out leaning away from her.

“Miles it so glad to see you wearing pants.” Tabitha laughed and climbed onto the bench next to him.

“Your feminine bits are touching me.” Miles muttered, but Tabbie knew he was putting up a front.

“Is he always this much of a misogynist?” Mikaela asked.

“No, he’s showing out for company.” Tabitha answered. She threw her legs over his lap for emphasis. "You wanna behave?"

Miles sent her a look of utter betrayal and she ignored it.

“So what's this you were talking about this morning hmm?”

“Oh my books?”  Miles asked hoping she would take the hint.

“No, the “incident” as you dubbed it.” she replied missing it.

Miles tucked into the fries so he didn't have to answer. She'd put him in a bind if he doesn't say anything Sam would get suspicious and ask. He couldn't lie to Sam, not about this. And if he did say something lunch wasn't the best time or place. He tried for the most neutral answer possible without lying.

“I sorta met someone?”

“Someone?” Sam asked incredulously, leaning in as if he hadn't heard right.

“Sorta I guess.” Miles shrugs striving for nonchalant.

“You guess?” Tabbie interrupted.

Miles felt trapped.

“We've only had sex, so there’s no precedent for a relationship.” Miles clarified and then turned his attention to his food to avoid more questions. He was in the middle of peeling the top off his pudding cup.

“Only?” Mikaela asked and Miles hated her all the more for asking her that.

He went quiet for awhile thinking of an answer that will please them.

“One night stand, one of us was drunk, the other was “slumming”. It’s a match made in heaven.” he said finally.

“Do you like her?" Sam asked.

He thought about it, the complicated mess  “Yeah, I maybe I do,”

"Then you should tell her." Sam said, with a sidelong glance at Mikaela. "You never know."

"I don't have the sexiest car to seal the deal." Miles responded "I doubt the moment would ever happen again."

He started shoveling the pudding into his mouth to avoid any more uncomfortable questions. Mikaela gives him an unreadable look

“So what’s with you and Trent?”

Miles wasn't expecting the question, and so the pudding  goes instead  down his windpipe. He coughs, spraying the rest of the pudding across the table and Mikaela. It would have been funny, if he wasn't more concerned with breathing.

“Smooth move.” Tabitha murmured shoving napkins toward her friend. As Miles hunched over the table gasping, Mikaela wiped the confection from her eyes.  

It was way too much for one day, Miles slipped from his seat and bolted.

Trent appeared at that moment strolling past the table. He grinned at Mikaela, taking in the streaks of pudding in her hair and across her face.

“Bunny that's a good look for you.” He said leering.

Sam hit him as a lack of anything better to say.

***

Miles fled to the safety of the teachers restrooms. It provided  quiet and that was what he needed.

He ran the tap till it was warm and stuck his head under the spray. Miles scrubbed the residual pudding from his face and the tips of his hair. Water cascaded down the back of his neck and scalp, running down his shirt. Miles squeezed the moisture from his hair and grabbed a few paper towels to mop up the rest. Nothing seemed to be going right, but at least he was clean.

His reflection in the mirror looked wan and sick. He'd been agonizing about it too long.  So Sam was growing up, that didn't mean he'd get left behind. He was the one who needed to grow up.

"I'm an idiot." he grumbled patting the water from his collar.  A new girlfriend wasn't enough to kill a 12 year friendship.

"Bros before hos. Especially Jock ones."

He slipped out of the door and Tabbie grabbed his hair as soon as he appeared.

"Go apologize!" She ordered when he turned to look at her.

"No." Miles said tugging his hair free. Tabitha was a good friend but he wasn't going to just go along with what she said. He still didn't like Mikaela.

“Look do you care about this friendship or not?”

He wanted to ask 'which one?' but he didn't want her to answer that one. Instead he asked, “Oh so you’re taking her side to?”  That was even worse, how could she do something like that?

“No, but she is my friend.”

“I was your friend first.”

“It’s not a competition you idiot!” She snapped and then she caught him by the shoulders drawing him in. “We’re both still your friends and I know you and Miki could be ok acquaintances at least. Just go her first that way that way she knows and tells her boyfriend."

He noted bitterly she said her boyfriend and not your best friend.

"You want this you want her to like you." Tabitha insisted. "This will save everything you fucked up."

"Tabbie.."

"Repeat after me. Two words. I'm very sorry."

"That three words." Miles countered because he knew she was right and he was resisting admitting it.

"Very is a stressing point, sorry is the core of your argument. Go."

"I'm really sorry." He parroted and she seemed pleased.

"Good now don't fuck up. 4th floor back hall. Run Forrest."

The bell rung signifying the end of lunch. Miles ran because he wanted to get it over with. For good or ill,he just wanted everything to stop. He hustled up the stairs and she was there of course flanked by two blonde girls. She didn't even bother to look up, her posse had it covered. He took a moment to catch his breath and then approached the girls with purpose.

"What do you want?" Harpy Harbinger number 1 one snapped.

"To talk to the queen bee not a drone." he retorted.

"Rude! As if you don't even rate." the other girl said.

Miles glowered and then said. "I don’t know if its because I’m smarter than you or have less of a chance to winding up on 16 and pregnant. But you're not going to ignore me anymore."

''What do you want?" Mikaela asked parting through the curtain of lipgloss and vapid.

What did he want to say? Now that the chance as presented itself, he was tongue tied.

"Spit it out."

"I'm not happy with you dating Sam but I can't change that so I want you to know if you hurt him I will end you."

Ok that wasn't what Tabbie had in mind and he knew it.

"What?"

Miles continued because it was already out of his mouth, and he had no real way of backing out of it. "You heard me. You're cancelled like Star Trek,  nothing more than reruns."

"Are you serious?" Mikaela asked stepping towards him, almost in challenge.

Her posture aggressive and Miles used his words as a weapon to ward her off.

"Are you? I doubt it. Let's face it, you didn't show the slightest interest that boy until he got that car. So you're nothing but a shallow status seeker. I will end you if he gets hurt, sleepless or just generally fed up as of you in any way."

"Its nice you want to hold his hand but Sam's a big boy now and what's between us is between us. No third wheel necessary."

"Can't be much between you." Miles countered crossing his arms.

"Not that it's your business. I hate to break it to you, but you aren't dating Sam. you weren't dating Sam so stop worrying about us."

"But if-"

But she continued. “Why don't you go to that Trent thing.”

He flushed and bit his lip "How?" he stammered. That was the very last thing he expected to hear from her. How the fuck did she know that?

"It was obvious, you need to get outta my shit and  handle yours."

"Its my shit because Sam's my friend!" He shouted, slamming his hands on a locker.  The action didn't frighten her but it gave him something to hold on to.

"And if you ever hurt him I will kill-"

His next words came out muffled because someone threw an arm around his neck. Miles panicked, struggling and the grip tightened. Mikaela face had the barest hint of a smile. His vision swam and blacked out.

When he could breathe again, the sights and sounds of the hall came back to him. The hall was full of students staring. Heads were poking out of classes to sneak a peek of him, pinned against a wall by a security guard. His partner was taking a statement from Mikaela and her posse as he was lead away. Miles went quietly because he had no other choice.

***

In the office, his sister sat, ensconced in paperwork. She didn't notice them until the officer cleared his throat.  

Syd looked up and then gaped.

"Miles?" She demanded rising from her seat.

"Sometimes my mouth gets me into trouble." He offered meekly.

The guard deposited him in a chair and joined Syd by the desk, the pair speaking quickly. Syd giving the security guard a stack of papers before disappearing into the principal's office. Mile wrote out his side of the story in the meantime. Afterward he spent an uncomfortable hour in the office chairs wondering his fate. When it seemed as if the verdict would never come, the solid metal door swung open

Syd stepped out of the principal's office shaking her head. She saw him perched on the chairs and strode over to him.

"The first day back," she groaned. "I don't believe you."

He shrugged and she smacked him on the back of the head.

"I expect that out of me not you." She admonished.

"What's gonna happen?" Miles asked, half afraid to ask.

"In school suspension and you stay away from her. They're going easy it's your first offence. That and I pulled a few strings."

"Gotcha." Mile answered chastened but relieved it wasn't worse.

"You're to stay here till someone can take you home."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Dangerous student you are." She explained, punching him in the shoulder. "Just stay out of my hair OK?"

"Right." Mile replies sketching off a weak salute.

As Syd went back to her desk and the ringing phone, Miles slipped out the office door.  The halls were vacant and he easily made it to the back hall and out the door. If he waited for a ride, his father would give him the riot act. He didn't feel up to that kind of familial interaction so he made his escape.

"That was a fucking shit show." Miles said stepping out into the warm sunshine. He made it about as far as the parking lot exit, before a police car drove up to the curb. The officer wore a fierce expression, much like the ones worn by uncle Reggie; the no nonsense glower of government mandated power. The difference was it looked good on him.

Miles skirted the car and kept walking, he didn't turn back.

The officer rolled down the window and peered out at Miles. "You're not skipping class are you?"

Even his voice was powerful. It was utterly masculine and it made Miles' mouth water. Slowly he turned to look at the officer. The man was pretty fit and younger than Miles had first thought. While he didn't have a baby face, he seemed fresh, not jaded by the job just yet.

"You're not a truant officer are you? " Miles countered willing away the stirring in his body.

The officer laughed and the mask of ferocity slipped away. His voice was rich and Miles loved it.

"I'll give you a ride." The officer said.

Miles stepped forward to inspect him, and asked suspiciously "Why?"

"Because I remember what its like to be sixteen."

"Seventeen." Miles clarified. It wasn't the first time someone had mixed up his age. His cheeks burned and he turned away.

"I also remember what its like to be small for my age. It made me a fighter."

"And yet you work for the the man." Miles gestured to the uniform. “I’m sure you seen the irony, Officer-” He leaned into the car to get a look at the man’s name tag. “Bailey.”

"To bring down the establishment from the inside." Bailey replied reaching out and tugging at id badge hanging from his. “Miles.”

Hearing his name roll off the man’s tongue was electric. As if Bailey focused on him and only him, and the thought was immensely flattering. Miles reached out and plucked the id from the man’s hand his fingers tingled. He curled his hand into a fist and looked back to the officer. Bailey winked at him and shifted in his seat. Miles heard the lock pop open.

"Get in." Bailey said and his tone brooked no argument. Miles debated and then slid into the backseat.

"Do I have to sit in the back?" He asked leaning forward between the seats.

Officer Bailey started the car and it rumbled to life. He pulled his seat strap down before buckling in and taking the hint Miles did the same.

“Well?” Miles asked once the officer’s hands curled around the wheel.

"Object lesson." Bailey replied and shifted gears. He pulled off so fast that Miles back slammed against the seats the sheer power vibrating under him. Miles struggled to sit up and he caught the officer' gaze through the rearview mirror.

"Good luck with that, I never learn." Miles replied as the car pealed out of the lot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Miles Lancaster. He’s Sam’s best friend and a high school sophomore. He's also gay, too busy trying to keep his grades up to come out. And he’s just gotten sucked up into an intergalactic war, without an alien guardian to make sure he doesn’t get squished. Also he might be in love with Trent.  
> Sequel to MTG & BS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started with the prompt by blazehex: 11. Sam always heard from Miles about his 'crazy' uncle. Never really thought it would turn out to be Simmons.  
> Other challenges to be revealed as the story progresses.
> 
> Miles makes a deal

Three weeks after the Cybertronian skirmish on Thursday morning, William Lennox sat down to breakfast. His darling wife, Sarah was watching the news as she was feeding their daughter. Annabelle, his chubby cheeked angel wiggled and burbled. To him the whole thing was just different.

Staring at her, taking it all in, it was surreal. He was stateside.

No sand, no biting flies and no hint of grievous bodily diseases. Figueroa had already sent emails complaining about the whole thing. Personally, Will thought it was perfect.

Sarah was cooing at their bundle of joy, while Annie grabbed everything her tiny hands could reach.

"So today's the day?" She asked weaving a spoon of mashed mangoes in front of their daughter's pink nose.

"Yeah, I'll be back around six."

"See that Bitty Belle? Daddy'll be home for bedtime." Sarah hummed.

The infant smiled, grasping at her mother's fingers. Crunching the last of his toast, Will carried his empty plate to the sink. Turning he drew Annabelle from her highchair and she patted his cheek.

"You like the sound of that huh?" He asked and she burbled in reply.

A loud honk shook him from his reverie. Peering outside they watched a large black truck pulled up to the farm house.

"It’s wonderful that your partner doesn't mind carpooling." Sarah smiled, taking back their little girl. 

"Yeah. It’s definitely something." Will murmured lifting his coffee mug to finish it. After kissing his wife and daughter, Will stepped out of the house. One last wave to his family and he was down the porch walking toward the truck. Just as he stepped up to the vehicle, the door popped open and he slipped inside.

"Good Morning Ironhide." he greeted tugging on a seatbelt.

"It promises to be." The mech replied turning and pulling out onto the road.

It took some getting used to riding in a sentient being, but Sam seemed to stand it just fine. William on the other hand was constantly aware that he was intruding on Ironhide's personal space. The bot hadn’t mentioned it, but it weighed a little heavily on his mind.

He'd wanted to ask Ratchet about it since the mech was a little more forthcoming than his compatriots, but he'd been too busy rebuilding Bumblebee's legs.  

The yellow bot, Bumblebee had been bent over the pile of scrap and the ugly wrecked stubs that were the rest of his limbs.  Ratchet worked hard, putting himself into every weld.  The way he connected old cables and twisted wires, he put the pieces together with dedication and focus despite the constant stream of oaths and orders that issued from his vocalizers. Everything Ratchet did was a labor of love; he'd slowly pieced the mech together while he chewed him out for his utter disregard for his own safety.

Bee for his own part responded only in song " _Love is a battlefield_ ~"

Ratchet huffed out a breath of exhaust, which Will was quickly learning was a sign of exasperation.

He hadn't the heart to interrupt.

"How is the repair work coming?"

"Slowly," Ironhide answered. "But for detail work so fine, slow is preferable."

Slow was definitely the word for it. Everything seemed to come at a snail’s pace, the gradual interaction between the Autobots and the government. Sector Seven was quickly disbanded, and a new tactical team had replaced them. Will was heading the operation, but that wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

The myriad pieces of Cybertronians that weren't utterly destroyed were brought in for study. Ratchet carefully picked over the broken cons, selecting pieces that would serve as adequate replacement parts or would him allow him to fashion new limbs and armor.

The first of the dismantled Decepticons were utilized to return Bumblebee to working order. Other bodies went to the painstaking process of repairing their fallen officer Jazz. The Autobots were extremely tense when the halves of their commander were brought into the base. Under the watchful optics of Ironhide their precious cargo was transported to the makeshift medbay.

They pulled into the city proper, and Ironhide reduced speed merging into the morning congestion of weekday traffic. The first few weeks had been extremely trying, the mech used to having right of way on his own planet. Eventually he got used to the inane intricacies of road laws. To keep Bumblebee's processors busy while his recuperated. Ratchet had tasked the scout with compiling a primer for new arrivals to the planet.

Their new headquarters loomed over them, and the security guard waved them through the checkpoint.

"That's some base.” Will said as the gate slid down behind them.

The building was big, as if reflecting the nature of some of its largest occupants.

"Please," the bot rumbled "That's only what's above ground."

"There's more?" Will wondered still looking at the architecture.

"Of course." Ironhide answered as if the question was inherently obvious.

The bot pulled into the bay and came to a stop. His locks clicked loudly and their conversation grew stilted. It wasn’t as awkward as it had been the night of Mission City, but still. Man and Mech were getting used to each other, each rather alien as it were. Ironhide for his part was rather blunt about his opinions of humans. Will found his candor refreshing and appalling in turns. The bot had discovered and summarily rejected supermodels, politics and reality shows. Epps was waiting for Ironhide’s exposure to pro-wrestling. Will laughed softly and moved to open the door.

“William.” Prime greeted him as the man stepped down from Ironhide’s cabin.

“Good morning.” Will replied.

Behind him Ironhide stretched out of his disguise and nodded to his commander. “This sector is clear as far as I can tell.” Ironhide said. “I believe that was the last of them.”

“Starscream has fled the system,” Prime replied “But it is possible he may return with reinforcements.”

Will figured that they were having the conversation aloud for his benefit. It was their concession to being polite. He'd seen them utilize rapid nonverbal data transfers before. This was their effort to include him. He wasn't going to be one to disappoint.

"If he does we will be ready."

Optimus looked over to the corner that served as Ratchet's medbay, and the still form of his second in command.

"It is all we can be."

***

"This is it." The officer declared and Miles looked up to see that it was true. He’d been so busy talking that he’d missed the entire ride. But something was bothering him.

"Did you look me up?"

"Rampant jaywalkers and truancy cases tend to be the same."

"Oh that was you?"

Officer Bailey pulled the door wide to allow the young man to exit his cruiser.

“Should I apologize?”

"Stay out of trouble Miles. I don't need to see you in that back seat again."

"I make no promises." The blond answered and waved at the officer.

Officer Bailey chuckled and pulled off, the car’s sirens whined loudly for an instant and then the cruiser was gone around the corner.

***

Four revisions into the rough draft of 'More than meets the eye' Reggie Simmons got a phone call. He assumed, with good reason that it was his editor. Janine had been the most frequent caller in the past three weeks.

He plucked up the phone and barked into the headset without hesitation. "For fuck’s sake Janine. I'm not changing that line. It fits and I'm keeping it so there."

The sibilant voice responding to him, "I am not Janine." was definitely not.

The voice was familiar. Painfully familiar. The electronic vibratos of the voice made it clear who or what the caller was. It was the kind of voice he'd had nightmares about for the last month.

A cold sweat broke out on Reggie's forehead and he clutched the receiver. That monster was on the line and he was utterly exposed. Simmons had no way to protect himself. The government had disbanded Sector Seven mere weeks after the Mission City fiasco.  And he’d been given his walking papers along with it.

Without the access to the same sort of tech he’d had before he had no desired to play fast and loose with any more alien robots.

Simmons was not ashamed of what he had done. Tough choices had to be made for public safety. Checkered history aside, he was paying for it now. Not that he'd let those over-sized toasters stop him.

"What the hell do you want?" Reggie growled so his voice wouldn't shake. He reached the tape recorder on his desk and flipped on the speakerphone.

"Very simple meatbag." The speaker replied. “I want my drone back."

"I haven't-"

"Do not play coy with me." The alien interrupted. "He was taken in the battle at the Dam. If he is not returned to me. I will take something of yours. Perhaps I will remove his head the way you have done to Frenzy."

Reggie’s mind raced trying to catalog the closest of his contacts. Just whom would the Decepticons try use as a pressure point?

"I don’t have access to that tech anymore. Sector Seven was disbanded." He spat angrily.

"A pity, but you will get me what I want. Or you will suffer the consequences.” The voice was cruel and slick. “I will be in touch." It promised.

The connection was cut, and Reggie was left with the blaring dial tone and an overwhelming sense of dread.

***

Miles slipped in the door, stepping over a pile of mail and into the foyer. The house was quiet, blissfully quiet. Everyone was out and he was ridiculously happy for the peace. Dumping his bag and shoes Miles decided a shower was in order. He shed his clothing as he moved to the bathroom and ducked into shower stall.

The water was a bit too hot, but it rinsed away the remainder of the pudding on his skin. As for his hair, well it got most of it. Miles scrubbed his face again and finally reached for the shampoo. The water took away the last of the confection but left his stress behind. He was mostly finished with the rinsing when he heard the door slam.

Peering around the curtain Miles called out to any would be invaders. "Hello?"

"Miles~"  Tabitha's voice echoed back and he sighed. Twisting the handles he clambered out of the tub dripping everywhere.

"Yeah?"  He asked bedecking himself in multiple towels and a very large bathrobe.

Tabbie was sitting at the dining room table when he peeked out of the bathroom.

"You decent?" she inquired.

"Kinda." he answered stepping out to meet her.

"Good!" she declared before jumping up and smacking him in the head.

"What the -" he got out before more yelling and smacking began in earnest.

"Are you nuts?" Miles shouted as he backed towards the stairs to avoid her wrath. Tabbie wasn’t having that, she all but chased him.

"Are you a fucking idiot what possessed you to do that?" She demanded smacking him again.

"Do what?"  Miles cried caught between trying to avoid her wrath and hold on to his towels. Dignity won out over self-preservation and he held the robe tight.

"Attack my girlfriend!" She shouted.

"I have no idea." Miles answered ducking yet another swing and dashing behind the couch.

"Just tell me why." Tabbie demanded running around the furniture to intercept him.

"I-  I’m still in love with him ok?” Miles howled diving for the stairs.

Tabitha stopped her assault at once and brushed her hair from her face. “Oh.”

Miles dropped down onto the bottom step and sighed. His best female friend sat there on the couch watching him sadly.

"My poor baby." She moaned "I thought you met someone."

"That was a lie." he lied in return, cold water dripping down the back of his neck.

"That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble boy." She accused.

"Story of my life." Miles grumbled back, swiping at the hair in his face. Wet and bedraggled he wasn’t in the mood for teasing,

Tabitha wasn’t in the mood either. "You do know he's never gonna feel the same way, right?"

“So today is the kick Miles while he’s down.”

"Go put clothing on. Real clothing." She added before he could make a smartass reply.

By the time he returned with clothing, Tabbie was sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a terrible scifi movie on the tv. She beckoned to him and he sat down trying to focus on the movie and not the fact she was absolutely right. Sam would never care for him the way he wanted. But at the same time he couldn't shake his feelings.

He still loved that boy.

And was a downright pain in the ass.

***

Getting up in the morning was easy, what with slim Tabbie fingers poking him in the ribs. He crawled out of bed and puttered around the room searching for something clean. As Tabbie retreated to Sydney’s room to steal clothing a spool of thread tumbled to the floor in her wake.

Miles picked it up and looked over to the desk where it had come from. His backpack was sitting innocuously next to his laptop. Miles found the scene too suspicious.  Brushing his hand over the fabric he felt stitching across the front. Opening the zipper, Miles saw the rainbow patch staring at him from the inside of his backpack.

On his trip down to breakfast he found Tabbie on the couch. She and Casey were bonding over sugary cereal and cartoons.

“Is this your handiwork?” Miles asked setting his backpack on the arm of the couch.

“I thought you could use some support.” She said slurping milk from her bowl.

“What does this have to do with support?”

“It takes time to come out; I just wanted to give you positive reinforcement.”

Miles ran his hand over the myriad of stitches. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then shut up and eat your breakfast.” Syd growled. “I’m leaving in 10 minutes.”

***

Sydney gave them a lift to school because Miles had left his bike behind. He didn't see the patrol car at all the whole ride, not that he was looking, instead his sister fussed.

"What part of ‘stay put’ don't you understand? How could you do something so stupid?"

"I love him." He said because that seemed to work with Tabby.

Syd rolled her eyes. "I know that idiot. You're supposed to fight for him not with him numbnuts.”

"I'm trying." Miles whined but neither woman was prone to give him any sympathy.

"Go get him or die trying." Syd ordered.

"You know that won't work." Tabbie told him as they clambered out of the car.

"I know." Miles replied, stopping to check on his bike. "But love makes you do stupid things."

They followed the crowd into the building, the mass slowing as they squeezed through the security checkpoint.

He flashed his Id and a security guard directed him off to the side. Tabbie gave him a wave and continued on to class. Miles twiddled his thumbs in the office until the principal opened his door and beckoned him in. The tension wasn't knife thick, but it was uneasy.

"I expected better from you." The principal ground out. "This is your second offense Mr. Landcaster."

“First.” Miles corrected him.

"Toilets don’t blow themselves up." Principal Franske said, looking at him as if he was a particularly difficult problem. "I don't know why you do these things Miles."

"Neither do I." he replied "but it just sort of happens."

"Attacking a student?" Franske inquired shuffling through the assorted reports on his desk.

"I didn't touch her” he retorted. “I used my words."

"Verbal assault is still assault Miles. You know better than that."

"I probably do."

"You'll be serving in school suspension.” The principal continued ignoring his words.  “That way you’ll actually see it as a punishment."

“That’s fair.”

“I expected so much better.” Franske said as if making an entreaty to his better judgement.

“So did my parents, my therapist and Mr. Rogers. Get used to disappointment.”

Franske pushed the notice towards him frowning and as soon as Miles took it he pointed out the door.

Miles took the note went out into the office. Sydney was sitting at the Receptionist’s desk when he walked in. She snatched the note and nodded grimly. “It could be so much worse.”

“How?” Miles asked crumpling the paper.

“Suspension or Expulsion.”

“What did I do to warrant that?”

Syd made a face as if she was sucking a lemon through a straw. “You told her that you would and I quote here ‘kill her in front of witnesses.’”

“I talk alot of shit.” He agreed.

“Well now you’re in a lot of shit. With an ‘In school’ suspension, you sit in a room of other sweaty would be criminals until the janitor needs some help or something.”

He blew her kisses and ducked out into the hall. The detention room wasn't too far from the office as if that alone was enough to deter anyone from misbehaving. It wasn’t but, that wasn’t the point.

The room wasn't empty; Sam sat against the wall looking despondent. He saw Miles and his expression brightened and then he looked angry again, as if he just remembered he was supposed to be mad.

Well that meant he'd heard what happened.

“Does God hate me?” Miles asked sliding into an open chair.

“Probably.” Trent replied from across the room.

“What are you in for?” Miles asked because Sam didn't look very forthcoming with conversation.

“A fight but not much of one, you?”

“Skipping out on meeting with the principal because of a fight.”

Trent nodded but didn’t say anything else. Miles looked back at Sam, but his friend if he could use the term loosely, didn’t seem any more inclined to speak. It was going to be a long school day if no one said or did anything else the whole time. Miles tried to keep the conversation with Trent rolling.

“So, you do anything fun this summer?”

Trent met his eyes and leaned forward. “Just we fucked, it doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Just because he didn’t want to talk didn’t mean he wasn’t going to say anything. Miles tried again. “Our dicks were friends.”

Trent’s face screwed up and Miles had to laugh. From the corner Sam shifted in his seat but didn’t say anything. Trent looked from Sam to Miles and back.

“When did you two break up?”

“EJC.” Miles said. And good god it had to have been official even Trent noticed it.

“Who.” Trent didn’t get the acronym but Miles didn’t expect him.

“Mikaela.” He answered. “I can’t stand her. You were dating her; you know how bad she can be.”

“Yeah not anymore.” Trent shrugged, as if Miles hadn’t been there for his stupid break up with her.

“Yeah thanks for that, now she's making my life miserable.”

Trent pointed at Sam. “Don’t worry. Soon she’ll be doing the same thing to him.”

 Miles let out a weak chuckle but it wasn’t his idea of comeuppance if his friend suffered in the meantime. He just needed to talk to Sam and explain everything. He dug in his bag and drew a ball of paper. Trent looked at the flag patch sown into the lip but Miles hastily shoved it closed. The first ball pitched at Sam did nothing and Miles dug for more.

"You suck" he wrote and folded the note into a triangle. The paper football sailed over Sam's head.

Sam ignored it.

Miles pushed back from his seat and stepped into the hall. He was tired of butting in where he wasn’t wanted. And Sam obviously didn’t want him.

The doorway wasn't clear.  Mrs. Caval was leaning against the frame with a collection of papers in her hands. She was a friend of his old man’s, and her own served as the Tranquility High football coach. Miles gawked not because he didn’t expect her, but from the size of her belly.

“Mrs. Caval! You’re huge!” He practically shouted.

“Hello Milton.” She greeted reaching for him.

Miles was well versed in the maneuvering needed to hug a pregnant woman and he leaned in to meet her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Coaching for Daddy.” She said “Someone has to maintain the team, and a new coach isn’t available on such short notice.”

“Oh well. Good for you?” he offered.

“Detention?” she asked “That's not like you.”

“Usually I don't get caught.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get a suspension.”

“Yeah, so lucky.” He grumbled.

Mrs. Caval looked at Miles when he glowered and suddenly her face broke into a bright smile. “How would you like to commute your sentence?”

The shadow over Miles’ face cleared instantly. “Wait…what?”

“I know you’re good at handling kids.”

“Mrs C…” Miles hemmed and hawed, but the thought of going back into the lion’s den tomorrow wasn’t a reassuring prospect. So helping out with little league couldn’t really be worse

 “Sure what could it hurt?

“Good at the end of the day met me on the field and I’ll give you your marching orders.”

***

“Mrs. C?” Miles stepped on the field but he didn’t see his would be savior anywhere.

Eventually skulking around he found her. Clustered around were a couple of guys from the football team. They were close, hands stretched out rubbing her belly.

Maybe they were the ‘big brothers’ of the team he was about to be saddled with.

“For luck.” One of the jocks called patting her waistline with affection.

"Dante, I will fail you right here.” Mrs. Caval said before she caught sight of the newbie. “Just in time Milton."

He jogged down to the field and looked around for the team or rather anyone else but Caval and the High Schoolers.

“So Mrs C? Where’s-”

She blew a shrill note on the whistle around her neck, cutting him off. A few more young men jogged over, widening the circle around them both.

“Meet the boys!” She said and gestured to the team. “Boys, welcome your new assistant coach.”

The students gathered around Coach Caval looked to him. Miles squirmed under their unflinching gazes. If anything Trent's was the most intense, if not the most malicious. Miles looked back to Mrs. Caval, her smile expressing the utmost confidence in him.

“Uhh…Hi There guys.” He croaked. “Go, Eagles?”

 


End file.
